Black Roses and Hail Marys
by Ashvarden
Summary: Harry muses about his relationship with Marcus Flint. HarryMarcus, postHogwarts, nonHBP compliant.


A/N: This is a re-worked version of the original Black Roses And Hail Marys, a (in my opinion, anyways) much improved version of it. I'd love to get some people's opinions on this.

I lean against the balcony, looking out over the grounds. Flint Manor is the biggest, most extravagant place I've ever lived (not counting Hogwarts), with sprawling grounds, well-tended gardens and almost two hundred acres of wooded property solely for flying. There's a huge field that serves as a Quidditch pitch, but it's far enough from the Manor—almost a mile and a half through the woods—that you have to fly to get to it. I think Marcus likes it that way; he's a private person, and when he goes flying—not to practice, but just to get up in the air and _relax_—he likes the fact that no one can watch him let his guard down like that.

It's late in the day, and the sun is beginning to sink behind the horizon, faint rays of light shining through the treetops. I start to think about heading back inside, but before I can force myself to move, the sliding door opens behind me and strong arms encircle my waist, holding me tightly against a broad, well-muscled chest.

Sighing, I lean back into the embrace. I'm pretty sure I'm smiling like an idiot. Warm, wet lips press against my neck momentarily before working their way up to nip at my earlobe. He slides gentle fingers against the curve of my jaw and turns my head to crush our lips together in an eager kiss. I return it with equal enthusiasm, my tongue twining with his as we battle for dominance.

I turn inside his arms, so that I'm facing him, and bring my hands up to tangle in his silky hair. It's short and dark, contrasting with his deep tan and dark eyes perfectly. His hair is second only to his eyes as my favorite feature.

True, his entire body is nothing to scoff at—a lot of wizards neglect their physical strength in favor of using magic, but Marcus is a jock through and through and I quite honestly can't even _begin_ to imagine how much different he would look and feel if he wasn't built like a brick wall—but I go more for what's on the inside than looks, anyway, so it's not a huge deal to me whether his teeth are straight or not. That might be a good thing, because I love him to death and I can't imagine life without him, but even _I've _got to admit that he's not about to win any male beauty contests. I mean, Marcus is good-looking in his own right, 6' 2" and almost entirely muscle, with the most amazing eyes—they're this really rich-looking dark brown, like root beer—but he isn't exactly striking, not in the conventional way.

Someone once said that eyes are windows to the soul, though, and when I look into Marcus's, I see what keeps me here with him. Maybe he's not a beautiful person, and maybe we don't agree on some things—hell, there aren't all that many things we _do _agree on, besides Quidditch and a mutual love for cuddling, as unlikely as the latter may seem—but he's your typical Slytherin, and I can't begrudge him his nature. Hell, his nature was very nearly _my _nature. It probably would'vebeen if I hadn't talked the Sorting Hat into Gryffindor instead.

Marcus has his faults—quite a lot of them, to be completely truthful—but he's got plenty of good qualities, too. He's not a troll, like some people think. True, he's not really that book smart, but he knows what he wants out of life and exactly how to go about getting it. I can't even begin to count the number of times he's maneuvered things to get his way, oftentimes without the people he's manipulated even realizing what he's done. He has pride and ambition, and cunning any Slytherin would admire.

He's practical, too, and he's actually a pretty considerate bloke when it comes to people he cares about, believe it or not. To ninety-nine percent of the world, he's a cold, vicious, heartless bastard; to that other one percent, myself included, he's like a giant teddy bear. Well, okay, not really, but he's certainly a lot nicer and more—dare I say it—_playful _than he is around others.

My friends don't like him, mostly because he's a Slytherin and his family is traditionally Dark. (He comes from a pretty Death-Eater infested family tree—even his dad was one. I say 'was', because he's dead now. He died in the final battle with Voldemort. When Marcus found out, all he said was, "Good fucking riddance." He never told me why he hated his father so much, but I can guess from the scars on his back and the way he refuses to talk about his childhood in much the same way I don't talk about my life at the Dursleys'.)

Ron hates Marcus's guts, whenever the two of them see each other everything degenerates into some sort of twisted competition to see who can be more insulting. Hermione at least doesn't call him scum to his face; she waits until he's not in the room anymore. None of the Weasleys like him, except maybe Charlie, who I've come to think is genuinely incapable of being a bastard to anyone. He's even decent to _Snape_. Anyway, most of the Weasleys would be perfectly happy if I broke it off with him. I think part of it, in addition to the fact that he comes from a long line of Dark wizards, is because they always thought I was going to marry Ginny and live happily ever after with her, _officially_ a member of the Weasley clan instead of just an honorary member.

Instead I'm with a Slytherin. A non-evil Slytherin, but still a Slytherin, and they can't seem to get past that.

When it comes down to it, do Houses really matter, though? I was nearly a Slytherin, and you don't see me running off to join the Death Eaters, now do you? The fact that Voldemort is dead and his followers are disbanded, the majority of them currently rotting in Azkaban, is beside the point. Even if he was alive, I would still hate his guts no matter what House I was in.

Merlin, my thoughts are depressing. I don't want to think about my strained friendships and screwed up family right now, so I try to direct my thoughts somewhere, _anywhere_, else. I picture him in my mind, lose myself in his touches, his kisses, his laughter and the way he smiles, crooked teeth and all, and I let myself love him the way I want to.

His hand is running down my thigh now, and I can't help but breath in sharply at the sensation of his skin sliding against mine. He grins wolfishly and takes my hand, and I know what's going to happen next. He leads me inside and closes the door, and this time it's _my _turn to lead _him_.

***

Hours later, I lie awake, suffering through yet another frustrating bout of insomnia. Marcus is asleep, his head pillowed on my chest, and his breathing—so heavy he's nearly snoring—is soothing in the otherwise uncomfortably quiet silence. His weight on me is comforting, and for once I don't mind that he's so heavy.

The lights are off, so I can't see anything but his face, eyes closed. He looks so peaceful, and I can't help but wonder how I managed to find my way to him. He's five years older than I am, and by most rights, we shouldn't have ever even seen each other again after he graduated. But we did, and we finally realized why neither of us has ever managed to hold onto a relationship for any length of time. We were "looking for love in all the wrong places", I guess you could say.

I've known since fourth year that I'm not entirely straight… let's just say Hermione wasn't the only one interested in Viktor Krum. Aside from Cho, and in my sixth year Tracy Davis, I've never dated anyone else. Some people would say that settling down after only two relationships, neither of them anywhere _close _to being serious, is a mistake, that I can't really know what love feels like because I haven't really been with anyone else.

I say fuck them.

I know damn well what love feels like—I've been feeling it for close to three years now. Marcus and I started dating the summer after my sixth year, a little after I turned seventeen. It's been two years since I finished school, since Voldemort and I had our big epic prophesied showdown, and I still find it hard to believe how easy it was to leave everything behind to be with him. I don't even miss them much, the friends that couldn't accept my decisions and just be happy for me and the fact that I'm actually going to, against all expectations, have a real, honest-to-God Happily Ever After.

It should've been enough for my friends that _I'm_ happy, but it's not. They think I can 'do better', whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. It pisses me off when they talk like that, but I still miss them sometimes. I miss the way things used to be. I wouldn't trade what I've got with Marcus for the world but sometimes I think back on the 'good old days', back when the three of us were still best friends, and it hurts, just a little bit, to realize that we're never going to be close like that again.

I hardly see them anymore, but that's not really any of our faults, I don't think. I can't be what they want me to be, do what they want—hell, _expect—_me to do, and frankly, why should I change just because they want me to? Aren't friends supposed to accept you for what (and who) you are?

Hermione and Ron say they're just worried about me, but what do they have to be worried about? Nothing. I've told them that a million times, but it doesn't seem to be sinking in at all. Every time I see them, the conversation eventually ends up with them trying to brand it into my mind that I would be 'so much better off' without him. Lately I've been talking to them less and less. I'm sick of listening to them bash my boyfriend. Ron especially can't seem to get it through his thick skull that Marcus is the only person I want.

I shift slightly, and he moves with me, still fast asleep, plastering himself to me like he thinks I'll disappear if he lets go of me. Hell, maybe he _does _think that. I hope not, but somewhere deep inside I know he has just as many insecurities as I do. We're both pretty fucked up in the emotional department, doubting our self-worth and having a tough time showing our feelings in what psychologists would call a "healthy" way—maybe that's part of the reason we work so well together, despite our differences. Deep down, we've actually got a lot in common.

Still, his clinginess is kind of adorable, and it makes me smile. I can't help but run a hand through his hair—it really is one of his best features, I think. I love touching it, carding my fingers through it. I do it a lot, but he doesn't mind. Quite the opposite, actually. Sometimes he'll come and find me and lay his head in my lap, rubbing his head against my hand like a tomcat demanding to be petted.

My eyes are starting to get heavy, and I let myself fall into the abyss of sleep that has been so elusive of late. It never used to be; when I was little, I used to fall asleep pretty quickly, but that changed the summer after fourth year, after I watched Cedric die and Voldemort come back. After I killed Voldemort, it only got worse. I relived that night in my mind for months… I guess that's what got Ron and Hermione _really _worried over me.

After a while, though, the memories started to become a bit fuzzier, and by now they're a little more manageable. The flashbacks are pretty much gone, but the insomnia is showing no signs of going away, and, to be honest, I kind of doubt it ever _will_ go away completely.

Anyway, I was pretty fucked up for a long time after the whole Final Battle played out. I lost a few friends that night—mostly people from school—but, even more traumatizing than that, when I finally managed to kill the Bastard (yes, with a capital B) the connection between us acted as a conduit of sorts. The backlash was what _really _screwed me up—every fucked-up thought, memory, and emotion in his head pummeling me, all of it at once. I didn't even wake up until a week later, and I was in the infirmary for almost a month before they deemed me physically sound enough to release me.

My point is, Marcus helped drag me out of that gaping pit of depression I fell into because of it, and I'll always be thankful to him for that. He might not be the most sensitive person, and he's far from perfect, but he knows how to deal with me, not to mention he put up with (and, to a lesser extent, continues to put up with) my insecurities and my horrible temper and everything that's fucked up with me, mentally and emotionally speaking. He's my rock. I'm not an easy person to deal with, I know that, and even now it still surprises me that he would go to so much trouble just for me.

I guess that's what you do when you love someone, though, right? True, most people aren't as emotionally stunted as I am, but still…

I don't want to think about this, and I know I shouldn't be, but I can't help but wonder where I'd be without Marcus, and Ron and Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys and Remus… dead or even more screwed up than I already am, probably. I'm not under any delusions that I could have pulled through this by myself.

It's a damn good thing I've got him, because if I didn't I'm not sure I would have much left worth living for.


End file.
